‘Thaai Kizhavi’ movie review: Radikaa Sarathkumar’s masala comedy of gold standards signals a commanding new filmmaking voice

A cinephile friend once said how cinema, both the art form and industry, is a thriving, sentient being that knows who it must embrace or let go, and when it needs what at any specific time. And if we were to believe in that fantastical idea, the box office rut in 2026 feels like a reckoning call for Tamil cinema’s next torchbearer to rise to the occasion. There’s a new filmmaker in the block, who, by all means, seems to be the recalibrating voice Tamil mainstream cinema needed.

Sivakumar Murugesan’s debut Thaai Kizhavi is a film that feels like the perfection of an archetype many filmmakers have been toying with over the last few years — it’s a rollicking, leave-you-in-splits comedy that surprises you every step of its way, has a pressing emotional core, fields for the right progressive register, and leaves you feeling thoroughly satisfied.

In the colourful world of Thaai Kizhavi, everything and anything seems spring-loaded to tickle you or sting you. There’s a tattoo of Kamal Haasan’s face on a man’s chest that gets its share of respect; there’s a wayward drunkard whose only job is to keep alight a lamp outside the Lord Karuppan temple; there’s a loudspeaker that somehow knows which Kamal song to play when, just like the photo of a deceased elderly man whose expressions keep changing. At the centre of it all is Pavunuthaayi (Radikaa Sarathkumar is exceptional), the stronghold around which all of Karumathur pivots, her daughter Suruli (Raichal Rabecca) and her good-for-nothing husband, her three dimwit sons, and a 40-something most-eligible bachelor of the town. Hell, heaven, and Karumathur all move around these wonderfully written characters.

Interestingly, the person we first meet is the one who would perfectly bookend this ensemble-driven story — the walls of the houses in Karumathur feature the male and female heads of the family, all except that of Pennycuick (Munishkanth), who does everything he can to get married. Then we meet Pavunuthaayi, who is a beautiful contradiction of all-embracing love and iron-fisted authority. She prays to many gods of her world for the wellness and prosperity of all beings, a prayer that crescendos into a Murugan song (Sivakumar Murugesan, interestingly, is also helming Sivakarthikeyan’s next, Seyon, meaning ‘Murugan’, also set in Karumathur). Her daughter Suruli, in contrast, gets a muted entrance in the big shadow her mother casts. Every day, when Pavunuthaayi finishes her prayers and steps out of her house, sirens go off in the heads of the townsmen, for they know what is to come — she would go on a merciless walk around the town, collecting interests on the money she has lent over the years. “Kaal mulachi nadandhu varum ayyanaar aruva iva,” “Local don-u, Sungudi kattivandha Superman-u,” go the lyrics of a song, as in this duality of Pavunuthaayi lies the film’s honest core. She once vowed that even if she dies, she would walk to the graveyard all by herself and lie down. Whether it was the doing of the Yaman, whom she mocks, or the Karuppan, who Vesakutta (Aathadi Kumaran) asks to take Pavunuthaayi away, the elderly woman gets bedridden all of a sudden.

The news reaches Pavunuthaayi’s sons, wastrels of each kind, who get elaborate introductions that leave you in splits. Vijayan (Aruldoss), an auto driver, is the kind who would squander Rs 50 in pursuit of a one-rupee coin. Uppiliyan (Singampuli), a Kamal Haasan fanatic, rents out music systems to functions; he plays only Kamal songs to the dismay of fans of Rajinikanth, Sathyaraj, Ramki, and Raj Kiran. Meanwhile, flower seller Selvam’s (Bala Saravanan) garlands all look shriveled — Sivakumar’s brilliance lies in how even Selvam’s relationship with flowers goes on a full journey in the film. The three prodigal sons all return to Karumathur, not because they are worried about their mother, but because she had vowed that none of them would get any share of her properties, at least until her death. A fourth and loud entrance is made by Pavunuthaayi’s son-in-law (Muthukumar), vowing to collect the remainder of the dowry owed to him.

Meanwhile, a stranger, wearing white and other markings of a rich man, shows up and informs the sons of a shocking detail about their mother — she had bought 160 sovereigns of gold from the man’s gold shop in Madurai. He shows them the receipt, and they piece together that perhaps this is what she does in her secret weekly trip to Madurai. Unable to source the place where she has hidden the gold, the three men now become affectionate sons who hope to cure their mother from the sickness. A hilarious story about the true wealth of life begins.

The strength of Thaai Kizhavi is how organically the pieces fall into place. Sivakumar hardly misses a beat — even a casual subplot about Suruli’s son’s romance with a young woman is handled with care and purpose. Moments that make a crowd burst out in laughter are stacked in a short joke-per-second ratio, but Sivakumar is conscious that no joke is crass, and the right message comes through. For instance, how Selvam, the only educated man of the lot, struggles to understand the English of a doctor makes for laughs, but the immediate next scene garners claps as it shows the lead doctor explaining to the former doctor the apathy and weak-mindedness of talking to others in a language they don’t understand.

Similarly, the use of hit yesteryear tracks — which has become a trend thanks to the likes of Lokesh Kanagaraj — hits a peak in Thaai Kizhavi, as Sivakumar displays an enchanting knack to know which lesser-used song (mostly of Kamal) works organically and where; it’s like going on a trip with a friend who knows just the most bizarre thing to say at the right time. It isn’t just about booming the song in the background; Sivakumar changes the staging, shot composition, and editing of the scenes to suit the track — like a hilarious bit that features the ‘Kushi’ theme song. Nothing prepares the audience for the clap-worthy use of ‘Vishwaroopam’ and ‘Karbagraham Vitu,’ which are all set to become talking points in the upcoming days.

Sivakumar also seems to be a deft screenwriter who knows when to scale down and when to shift gears. The post-intermission lull, which has been plaguing many Tamil films, seems premeditated here, as Sivakumar lays the groundwork for what is certainly one of the most satisfying third acts in a mainstream social-comedy. Thaai Kizhavi bats for all the right things, and every dialogue uttered in the climax motivated the audience to hoot and whistle. “Even when they pray to men for creation, protection and destruction, they must pray to women for wealth and education,” goes one of those goosebumps-inducing lines. Perhaps, the only niggle with writing is how one-note Pavunuthaayi’s daughters-in-law (Muthulakshmi, Nirosha and Abinaya) become and seem undeserving of the role they play in the climax. Even that seems passable in this otherwise neat film, which is also a rare breed of social drama that staunchly pokes at the system without hurting any sentiments or leaving any leeway for counters.

There’s a moment in the film that sends shivers down our spine; an elderly woman whom Selvam comes across dies, and the dialogue uttered here makes you gulp a lump in your throat. But Sivakumar is also a writer of such calibre that even what he wishes not to underline — like the importance of savings in a world where medical expenses can end all fortunes — stays with you.

Throughout Thaai Kizhavi, I often found myself wondering if this was the work of a debutant. This is the work of an all-new filmmaking voice that doesn’t wish to be constricted to set patterns. Sivakumar Murugesan has loudly announced his entrance, and he has all the signs of a game-changer that Tamil mainstream cinema has desperately needed. With Thaai Kizhavi, Tamil cinema has finally managed to start firing its cylinders in 2026.

Thaai Kizhavi is currently running in theatres